


Parlor Games

by electricmisso



Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: (kind of i guess), F/F, Rough Sex, i ship Madam Satan with picking one name tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-29
Updated: 2018-11-29
Packaged: 2019-09-02 01:31:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16776937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/electricmisso/pseuds/electricmisso
Summary: And to the victor, go the spoils.





	Parlor Games

One of the many unanticipated predicaments involved in attending a secret magical arts academy, of which the majority of attendants either fear or loathe you, is finishing your homework. Sure, Sabrina Spellman had been raised in a magic household, but her aunts could only prepare her so much for the course load, filled beyond the brim with both intensities and busy work, or the weighty expectations she’d be under as the daughter of a former High Priest.

But while Sabrina hadn’t yet built a coalition of witching friends with whom to form a study group, she practically already lived with one. And because Miss Wardwell had been coming to the house a lot more lately, Sabrina had a veritable cabal of satanic knowledge right at her fingertips. All of them were able to help with the subject matter, of course, but each had their own speciality: Ambrose flourished in the trenches, practically buried in books and endless reams of annotations, Miss Wardwell was an expert at crafting a sturdy essay, Hilda kept them all well-fueled with cakes and tea, and Zelda was perched on watch, ready to strike whenever she believed they were getting it all miserably wrong.

“I told you, Sabrina: there’s no way you’ll reach two-thousand lines on Eastern Hemisphere creatures and cryptids if you disregard the whole of Australia.” 

“I know, Auntie Zee, but there just aren’t enough books about it. All we have is three chapters on the smear campaign against Tasmanian Devils, and that’s an elementary-level subject. I’ll get laughed out of my classroom.”

“Not to worry, ladies.” Ambrose had just returned to the parlor with Miss Wardwell, each carrying a mammoth pile of antique-looking books. “We found that old set of volumes on East Asian urban legends under a tarp in the attic.”

“Praise Satan!” Zelda exclaimed. “I thought we’d lost that during the old barn fire in ‘15.” Sabrina chuckled, knowing that timestamps on her aunts’ more thrilling stories were always referring to previous centuries.

“Where on earth did you find these, Zelda?” said the visiting teacher, taking a place next to Zelda on the velvet settee with crossed legs. “I can’t imagine you acquired them half-off at Dr. Cerberus’ fine establishment.”

“I believe we came upon them in Kuala Lumpur. It was a nightmare getting them back to the US, but Hilda insisted…”

“And aren’t you glad she did!” Hilda referred to herself while making her way back into the parlor, equipped with a fresh kettle and Sabrina’s favorite biscuits. “I knew one day we’d have a growing young mind with a need for an ample book collection.”

Zelda’s least favorite version of her sister was always the one who was overly pleased with herself. “Yes,” she remarked, pouring herself a fresh cup of tea, “I’m sure your robust library of Harlequin novels will push Sabrina right to the top of her class.” Next to her, Mary chuckled quietly, conspiratorial. When with more than one Spellman, she tried to remain impartial between the sisters, veiling her preference for the older of the two. She truly did see value in both women, but she had only spent the last four months fucking one of them.

When she leaned into Zelda and whispered, her effervescent teacher’s tone lowered to a lover’s purr. “Have you ever dipped into that collection, Zelda? Found anything particularly titillating?”

Zelda could practically feel the shift, from Sabrina’s doting mentors to the carnal, lascivious creatures they became when no one was looking. “Miss Wardwell, you know better than anyone that I have plenty of opportunities for… _titillation_ without the need of a book.” 

“Aunt Zee?!” Zelda snapped out of her erotic trance, turning away from her lover and toward the sound of her niece. “Do we have any books on the...” she paused and squinted at a paltry diagram, “...Mongolian Death Worm?”

She squirmed a bit, hoping her family didn’t notice that their presence was the only thing keeping her from straddling their guest. “I imagine if we did, Ambrose and Miss Wardwell,” to whom she shot a glance, air drying in her throat, “would have found it in the attic with the others.” Sabrina frowned and went back to her research. 

Zelda attempted to steady her breathing while surveying the woman next to her, who looked like she might devour Zelda whole. She knew that look, had grown familiar with it over the past months. It was the look that made her say _don’t stop_ the first time Miss Wardwell put a hand on her waist, then her breast, then the door to her bedroom. And she hadn’t wanted her to stop once since this began.

Of course, it was only through their sexual congress that she learned of Mary Wardwell’s true ferocity, in both magic and carnal knowledge, which she kept relatively well-hidden to those who weren’t paying attention. They both thought it best to keep their liaisons a secret, as Sabrina would gawk and wonder, Hilda would simply radiate discomfort, and Ambrose would spill the secret to the aforementioned sister and niece. 

If they were courting, going to movies hand-in-hand, having polite missionary sex with the lights off, that would be one thing, a thing they could share with the others without raising more questions or judgment. But they were doing much, much worse. They were doing _their_ worst, as often as they could find the time.

Which was still not enough for Mary Wardwell’s tastes. Drawing orgasms from Zelda Spellman had become tantamount to drinking from the fountain of life itself. She wasn’t often attached enough to be possessive, or demanding, but she’d become obsessed with finding new ways of undoing the prim and proper specimen of witchhood, of making her scream the Dark Lord’s name so those in the bowels of hell could hear.

And today, she had no interest in waiting for this essay to be complete, or for this parlor to be empty. The fact that she was right next to Zelda Spellman, and not inside her, was frankly a travesty. 

Zelda could sense Mary’s frustration. She spoke quietly while taking another sip of tea, hoping to disinvite the others from their conversation. “Miss Wardwell, do you have any exciting plans for this evening?” Zelda foresaw those plans involving both of their naked bodies, writhing and swathed in moonlight.

“No, Miss Spellman.” The were staring into each other’s eyes. “The only plans I have are for right now.”

It was at that moment Zelda felt Mary’s arm snaking up her dress, manicured fingers seeking out her center.

Zelda’s clear blue eyes bolted completely open. “Mary,” she spoke with the voice of someone attempting to hold their breath, “what in hell’s name are you doing?!”

“Nothing that’s of concern to anyone else.” The glint in her eye indicated that she was on a mission, and that no onlookers were going to break her stride.

While worry still radiated from her eyes, and her posture had gone rigid as a coat rack, Zelda couldn’t help but feel arousal alongside her anger for her brazen lover. “You stop that at once!” she chided. “This is highly improper, even for us.”

“Shh, darling, they can’t see a thing.” Miss Wardwell gestured toward the large mirror across the room. Zelda scrutinized the reflection, expecting to see their wanton display of ribaldry staring back. Instead, she saw two well-dressed, dignified women with two pairs of crossed legs. But when she looked down, she saw her dress hitched up to her upper thighs, legs splayed open, and Mary Wardwell’s delicate forearm betwixt them. She began to feel circular motions outside of her undergarments, coaxing her to a further degree of wetness. The teacher was truly gifted, and not only at disguisal spells. 

Zelda felt stuck between a rock and a hard place. Or more accurately, between her matriarchal obligations and another woman’s hand at her cunt. Under most other circumstances, she would’ve let Mary take her right in the parlor. But Sabrina needed her, and it would be deeply unfair of her, and beyond her standard cruelty, to stress the importance of education only to abandon the girl in favor of her libido. She attempted to maintain her composure while Miss Wardwell continued her ministrations. “Not that I don’t appreciate your...efforts, but is there any way we could continue this later?” Another wave on her clit, another sharp intake of breath. “We need to set a good example for Sabrina, make sure she knows that her schoolwork is of the,” she shuddered, “utmost importance.”

Mary chuckled, but not too loudly. “What a time be a goody two-shoes. Relax, Zelda,” as if the witch teetering on the edge of her fingers really had a choice, “they seem to be doing just fine on their own.”

“Zelds, are you all right? You look...sweaty all of a sudden.” Broken from her trance at the sound of her Hilda’s voice, Zelda could see her sister’s nose crinkle. In order to compensate for her lack of calm, she increased her usual terseness tenfold.

“I don’t know, sister. But if for some reason I appear sickly, I’m sure it has something to do with your tea. What idiotic ingredients are you testing out on us today? Battery acid?” Zelda’s voice had raised, and her eyes were verging out of their sockets, but Ambrose and Sabrina were rather engulfed in cryptozoology in that moment. And Hilda, well, Hilda was used to it.

Mary wanted the other woman back in their bubble. “Zelda, if you’d just relax and let it happen, perhaps you wouldn’t draw so much attention our way.”

“Perhaps,” Zelda noted sharply, “if you extended your disguise charm beyond just my waist, my sister wouldn’t think I was succumbing to the vapors in our parlor.”

“Why do you think I’m doing this?” Mary whispered. “Watching you squirm is one of the most enchanting things I’ve ever witnessed. Straining to maintain your decorum while I push you toward the edge, keeping up that posture like a good little witch, all while soaking through your knickers.” It was Mary’s turn to take a deep breath. “It’s almost enough to make me come myself.”

“So you want to humiliate me? In front of my family?”

“Not in the slightest.” Mary spoke as if to a crowd of acolytes, but Zelda was her only follower. “I want to wring every ounce of pleasure out of you that is possible. I want you unable to go a minute, a second, without wishing my hands were on you. I want to break you down completely and put you back together with my tongue. Again and again and again.”

Before Miss Wardwell could slide her fingers inside her underwear, Zelda extricated herself from their seating arrangement and stormed away from the ragtag study group. All three of the other Spellmans were taken aback.

“What’s wrong with her?” asked Ambrose, his face perplexed.

“I don’t know,” added Sabrina, “but she picked a terrible time to be in a mood. This monster business might make or break my final grade.”

“I’ll go check on her,” Miss Wardwell announced to the room. “She did seem a little feverish.”

“It wasn’t my tea!” Hilda’s concoctions were an extension of herself, and she would always defend them thusly.

Mary stepped over the precarious piles of books, following Zelda’s path to the kitchen. She could tell herself that it was only out of desire to finish what she’d begun, but unfamiliar, distinctly _human_ emotions were becoming evident; namely, concern and confusion.

She found the other woman standing in her kitchen, smoking her tell-tale cigarette and anxiously rapping her foot against the tile, and cast a silent privacy spell, securing the doors, and effectively soundproofing the room, so as to preclude any interruptions.

“What’s wrong, dear?” Zelda turned from the window, noticing Mary’s presence for the first time. Her lover really could prowl with the best of any feline, she thought. “Did I touch a nerve? Well, other than the one I was aiming for anyway…”

That look. It was that look that always cut the thread that would begin Zelda’s unraveling. She would smile, they would banter, spin double and triple entendres, and ultimately wind up dewy and spent on the nearest available item of furniture. But not this time, she told herself. This time she would steel a fortress against Mary Wardwell’s seductive mastery, if only to prove to herself that she could.

“I’m just not in the mood.”

This took Miss Wardwell unawares. Of course, every woman was entitled to a change of heart when it came to intimacy, but it was highly uncommon to find these two witches in the same building without the flames of lust burning somewhere nearby. 

And besides, she’d just acquired evidence to the contrary. “You certainly _felt_ in the mood.”

Zelda rolled her eyes, something Mary hadn’t been on the receiving end of since their affair began. “You put me at a distinct disadvantage. Besides, often the body will say one thing when the mind says another. You understand.” She spoke with a tone that suggested they were rescheduling a dental appointment or something equally unpleasant.

“Of course.” Mary could have left it, chalked it up to an off day or a headache. That’s what she would have done with any other paramour. But for Zelda, she made the choice to remain steadfast, to not let go. “But something else is wrong, I can tell.”

Zelda took a deep breath in. “After all our months of….exploration, I thought you’d know by know that being teased in public, or in our family’s private parlor, while said family is present, is not an interest of mine in the slightest.” 

“Well,” she replied mirthily, “we couldn’t knock it until we tried it.

“A little warning would have been appropriate, considering the circumstances, don’t you think?” There was no lilt in Zelda’s voice. Mary knew that this wasn’t their usual rapport, that the other woman was truly miffed.

“Come on, Zelda, it was just a silly little game.”

“Perhaps that’s part of the problem, Mary.” She paused to consider the other woman, whether or not it was worth being vulnerable to spare herself more frustration. And she decided: Zelda wanted it to go on, but not like this. 

“I’m not young and naive. I have no need for romance and frivolous affectations. I enjoy our time together. But, all the same, it has become exhausting feeling like your… _plaything_.” Despite the confession, Zelda hadn’t allowed her physical facade to crack, her clenched jaw and critical brow unwavering.

It wasn’t often that _the_ Madam Satan was struck dumb. Despite her relative omnipotence, she had not once detected misgivings in her and Zelda’s encounters. Not in the tailored dresses left in a hasty heap on the floor, the just-bitten rosy nipples, the damp fog of arousal that hung in the atmosphere long after they were finished. Nowhere. Her painted lips hung open, shocked and speechless. 

“For someone who just showed up in our lives out of nowhere, cast out and from another coven and roaming aimlessly, you seem quite hellbent on convincing me that I am not your equal.” The emotions in Zelda’s voice were beginning to betray her, but she held Mary’s eye contact. 

“I don’t appreciate being made to feel insecure. And sometimes,” she continued, finally breaking her stare, “it feels as if teasing me gets you off faster than looking at me.” 

For millennia, it had brought Madam Satan unfettered joy to break a mighty being, to shatter their alter of conviction and watch them crumble beneath the ruins. But to see this glorious, powerful, sensual woman lay herself bare, because of perceived dissatisfaction with their sex, and with herself, was something for which she would not stand. She became practically indignant. 

“Zelda Spellman. After all this time, what could possibly make you think that I’m not attracted to you?!” 

“Well,” Zelda attempted to interject, “that’s not exactly what I said, but…” 

“Do you have some sort of brain parasite - has a Mongolian Death Worm bored into your skull?!?” Her anger increased with every word. If it weren’t for the privacy spell, the others would have certainly heard them quarrelling by now. “I have fucked you no less than four times a week for four months, which must average out to...what, forty orgasms total?” 

“Perhaps you should change your subject area to math,” Zelda deadpanned. 

“I have been making you come consistently, and quite _magnificently,_ I might add, more than anyone has in this century. But somehow you’ve concluded that I don’t want you?” Her eyes were ablaze, blue as hellfire. 

“But that’s just it, Mary. _You_ have made _me_ come dozens of times.” Zelda held her gaze as she floated back down to realization. “How many times have I made you come? How many times have you let me?” 

She remained silent, but knew the answer: two, in twice as many months. Once, early on, Zelda had wanted to reciprocate, and the sight of the straight-laced Spellman witch between her thighs had certainly aroused Mary Wardwell beyond compare. But her mouth and fingers hadn’t been enough, so much so that the poor woman’s jaw was clearly aching, and Mary had to assist, roughly bringing herself off with her own hand. The second time, she had sat astride Zelda’s face, bracing herself on the headboard in order to grind against her lover’s tongue and chin. She thought this gave her the vast majority of control, over the speed and tempo, without making Zelda feel too ineffectual. Apparently, she’d thought wrong. 

“If I told you,” Mary sighed, “that it was me and not you, would you believe me?” 

“Do you believe yourself?” 

“Yes. Implicitly.” 

She couldn’t tell her why. Of course, it was widely understood that intimacy, resulting in climax, entailed a harmony of the soul and the body. But Zelda couldn’t know that the body of Mary Wardwell, the one she enjoyed so much, and the soul of Lilith, who had bequeathed her with immeasurable pleasure these past months, were inherently dissonant. Even the most gifted and beautiful lover on earth, a contest which Zelda Spellman would surely rank highly in, would have a hard time tuning them. Lilith was often was content to feed on the pleasure of others while starving out their need to reciprocate. With humans, even witches, that need was always born of a desire for validation, a desire that Madam Satan hungered to destroy. 

But not Zelda’s. It didn’t make sense, but that was true of most splendid things, right? Lilith knew that, if she had a heart, it would break for Zelda. And she wanted to fix this.  
Mary Wardwell sought to turn the tide of disappointment in the air. “Well,” she said, “I think it’s time we make it three.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Zelda spat. “Just moving one room over from my family doesn’t make this any less absurd.” 

Mary batted those long, thick eyelashes. “The key difference is that, in here, I’m the one who’s….vulnerable.” And at that, she reached under her dress and shimmied out of her underwear, tossing them on top of the dining table. 

Zelda’s arms were crossed, her body language all but shouting that her interest at this particular moment had vacated permanently. But Mary knew, between her and Zelda, there would always be a spark of curiosity. 

Mary sauntered over to the kitchen window, inhaling the scent of Hilda’s horticultural menagerie. She leaned forward to brace her arms on the sink, gazing outside to the foggy Spellman cemetery. She arched her back severely to emphasize her posterior; if her face couldn’t do the seducing, her ass would have to work twice as hard. 

“You want to make me come, Miss Spellman? Now’s your chance.” 

At first, painful seconds of nothing, not even the anticipated sound of Zelda storming back into the parlor. But finally, she heard the faintest _tap, tap, tap_ of the other woman discarding her cigarette. 

"That ludicrous pose can’t be comfortable.” At least she was talking, Mary thought. 

“That depends on how long you want me to wait here all by my lonesome.” 

“I’m still thinking,” Zelda said, contemplating. Mary then heard footsteps, and the other woman was suddenly right behind her. Zelda put her hands on Mary’s thighs, pushing up her skintight dress until it pooled around her waist and exposed the entirety of her nether regions to the brisk air. Mary smirked at the feeling, and to accommodate their progress, began to kick off her shoes. 

“Keep them on,” Zelda intoned darkly. “Aren’t these what mortals refer to as... “fuck-me pumps?” They seem quite appropriate for the occasion.” 

Zelda’s voice was heavy. She’d fantasized about something like this for weeks, but now that it lay so deliciously in front of her, she was nervous, although she’d be damned to ever let that on. Her face remained a mask of stoicism. But seeing Mary like this, postured like an absolute trollop for her, made retaining control difficult. To ground herself, she began to massage her lover’s bare cheeks. And suddenly, without thinking, she greeted the right side with a harsh smack. 

Mary let out a guttural moan. “Dear Satan, I knew your dominant side would be delectable.” 

“Then why deny her for so long?” The more she seemed to arouse Mary, the more assured she became in her actions, with a nagging hope that her confidence wasn’t false. 

“All that matters now is that she’s free. And I want her to positively _ravage_ me.” But Zelda was going to make her wait for what she wanted, what she and her body _claimed_ to want. 

Zelda moved one hand between Mary’s legs to examine her wetness. “It just doesn’t make any sense.” Zelda’s consternation was evident in her creased brow, but her fingers continued to move in slow circles, just as Mary’s had in the parlor minutes earlier. “You get as wet as a fucking rainstorm. Why is it so hard to make you come?” 

It was true. Her body responded loudly to Zelda, and to plenty of others, but her peak almost always remained unclaimed. “My body can hear you,” she purred, “but my mind, my spirit, isn’t always listening.” Lilith still wouldn’t reveal the secret of her possession. She might never tell, if her plans succeeded. But this was the most open, the most exposed, she’d ever allowed herself to be in this body. 

Zelda inserted two manicured fingers. “Make yourself listen.” 

Mary Wardwell, Lilith, the Mother of Demons - no matter the name, she was bound and determined to come for Zelda Spellman on this day. She ground herself back into the other woman’s fingers, matching their pumps stroke for stroke. But she was quickly delivered a rebuke. 

“ _ **No.**_ If you’re going to let me be in control, then _let me._ ” Her other hand reached around Mary’s waist, coming to roughly land on her clit. Zelda intended to light her candle at both ends, so to speak. 

It felt sumptuous, but it wasn’t going to be enough to break past her barriers, Mary thought. “I’m not a delicate flower, Zelda. You can add another finger….if you’d like. You’re in control, of course.” 

“That sounds like a lovely idea.” Zelda inserted a third digit, roughly, hoping harshness was what Mary craved. And it was, but no matter how rough or delicate Zelda was, Lilith knew it alone wouldn’t be sufficient; she entered an almost meditative state, in order for her demon soul to actualize in this corporeal reality, feel the touch of this woman. It required extreme concentration, which was difficult, considering the witch between her legs. She had to stay focused, on clearing her mind and allowing it to be joined with Mary Wardwell’s body, so as to not disappoint that witch, and prove to Zelda how valuable she was. 

She could feel her body surging. “More!” Mary howled. 

“Miss Wardwell,” Zelda, all ten fingers covered in juices, still managed to be aghast. “I am not going to fist you this close to my antique china!” 

“Just one more.” Her arms became weaker, and it was a struggle to hold herself up. _"I’m begging you."_

Zelda loved power just as much as any other witch. In fact, she probably loved it more than most of them. But having this woman who’d undone her so many times soaked, mad, and _begging_ for her fingers, set her alight like nothing in her memory. She added a fourth finger, pistoning her hand at a dangerous speed. And instead of matching the quickness at her clit, Zelda took the bundle of nerves between her fingers and pinched. Hard. “Come for me, Mary.” 

And, as commanded, Mary Wardwell’s body listened. For the first time since their affair commenced, she convulsed around Zelda Spellman’s fingers, so violently that, for a moment, Zelda thought the muscles might cleave them off all together, which would be a shame, considering how much she’d just thoroughly enjoyed using them. 

As she came down from her climax, Mary asked, “Now, do you feel better?” when she might as well have said “I told you so.” 

“I feel perfectly lovely, if not a little...pruned, from time spent in your damp cunt.” Zelda wanted to return to their cutting banter quickly, erase the memory of her insecurity, her vulnerability, washing it down the sink drain along with the womanly essence on her hands. “How do _you_ feel?” 

For the first time, Lilith felt the potential for weakness that dwelled inside this body along with her. Mary Wardwell’s legs were quivering, anguish radiated from her heeled feet, and the entire region between her waist and knees had been pummeled to exhaustion. And Madam Satan loved it. 

“Positively divine, blessed by the Dark Lord himself.” Even under her affectations, she was telling the truth. “You, Zelda Spellman, should be imminently pleased with yourself.” 

“I am indeed,” she smirked around a new, post-coital cigarette. “We should be getting back before Hilda decides to put another kettle on." 

“Of course,” Mary said, still coming out of her orgasmic haze. “Just one more thing.” 

“And what, pray tell, would that be?” She was tapping her foot again, wanting to get a move on. 

“I don’t believe you.” 

Zelda didn’t appreciate the idea of more befuddlement today. “Regarding what, exactly?” 

“Not having a need for romance.” 

Mary got to be on the receiving end of her second eyeroll of the day while Zelda scoffed. “You’re naked from the waist down and dripping onto my kitchen floor. I wouldn’t exactly call this ‘romantic.’” 

“Well that’s just it: everyone has their own definition of romance. Maybe this can be ours.” 

She tried to remain aloof, but Zelda’s eyes softened ever so slightly. “I didn’t realize you were so sentimental after an orgasm.” 

Mary’s tone was deadly serious “If I wanted a plaything, just someone I could fuck and toss aside, I’d find one. I could have every man in this town if I so chose, and leave a trail of them along Sweetwater River.” She left out the part where all of those bodies would be disemboweled. “But here I am, with you, again and again and again. So please, don’t ever tell yourself that I don’t want you, because _I crave you._ ” 

At that, Zelda smiled. But if Mary was interested in reciprocating, it was her turn to be teased. “Well come on then, clean yourself up. We’ve got a young mind to mold.” 

“Oh please, Zelda, one more round?” Mary pouted. “They don’t seem to miss us.” 

“No, they don’t. But now that I know you like me stern, I might be a bit more….withholding.” After one last glimmer in her eye, she turned on her heel and walked back into the parlor. 

“Praise Satan,” Lilith declared to the empty room. “This is going to be fun.” 

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. hello! thank you so much for reading!  
> 2\. i did not go back to check the blueprint of the Spellman house or kitchen or whatever because i'm lazy so sorry if any mistakes took you out of the story.  
> 3\. i know it's a bit heavy on the profanity but i refuse to believe that Zelda Spellman is not an abject potty mouth @netflix get it together.  
> 4\. let's be friends on tumblr - @electric-eccentricity.


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